don’t mind this space
though im sure whatever fraction of your mind it could have occupied is well covered by something else - seeing how sporadic anything is updated or written.
in all likelihood this space will close soon. maybe it will migrate to a new digital canvas. maybe it will cease to exist entirely. but to leave it as is - like a body frozen midway along it’s journey to the peak - is an injustice in and of itself.
There is still much work to be done before any changes occur, but I figured I’d give a heads up to any few who might still see this and - however unlikely it may be - care.
theforeshadow asked: a vague notion, decrepit and decayed. a shadow of a memory abandoned for lack of use. an infinite ambition, stopping at nothing to reignite the faint spark into a brilliant blazing inferno of memories thought long lost. organization now pays off, as my ethereal collection of thoughts committed to abstract paper serves its purpose. "write," they said. "write a thousand words a day, even if they mean nothing at all." a sincere and hopeful outreach to the author of words I never quite forgot. :)
Hm. I feel a ‘thank you’ would suffice - about as much as a pat on the back or a smile and nod of acknowledgement.
Thank you for the echoed reminder of something and someone I miss dearly.
i swam out as far as my body could carry me.
and turning onto my back i let the tide carry me further
until the expanse spread out and consumed me.
on the third night, staring up at the trillion, trillion stars
i heard a distant rumbling, growing near.
before long i reached it’s source,
my sense of balance shot up from my stomach and into my throat
as i went tumbling down and out-
out from the horizon,
out from the familiar,
out, where down and up was an idea and not an absolute.
out, where thought was not confined to random electrical impulses.
the stars would brighten and dim as thoughts made themselves known.
consciousness was the blackness of the forever before me-
consciousness is the blackness of the forever before me.
a familiar feeling of exposure,
a school boy revealing his deep-hidden feelings
and receiving only laughter.
the cool morning air and warm afternoons of
tangled hair pasted to a forehead with sweat.
but your heart doesn’t beat like it does when they walk past,
never even noticing you were there
when they’re all you see.
you’re sure you’re in love,
because you repeat it to yourself like a daily prayer.
and this song is for them,
your sacrifice to the thought of them.
fucking grow up..
the sensed gap: digital words having no weight, no sense of flesh.
the problem: the transubstantiation of bits of information, made whole by the user.
i rode the morning train towards lumbering giants of glass and concrete.
above me a snake came slithering across the sky,
pulling the morning star up from horizon.
those seated around me saw nothing.
they stared intently at their nothings, some had two or three nothings.
bright screens of scrolling nothing.
in the afternoon i rode away from the giants,
the sky snake slowly swallowing the light.
around me still, nothing.
always nothing.
her face appeared as porcelain in the moonlight
perfect and smooth,
still and fragile.
in a flash of lightning her appearance morphed.
shadows revealing more than the light could-
a cadaver. bare teeth smiling - empty eye sockets,
piercing deeper than any iris.
a soft white and ice cold hand reached and rested itself on mine.
‘it’s coming’ she said.
there was a familiarity to her voice. a sense of genuine sincerity underpinned by a kind of metallic distance, like a warm voice played through a tape deck in a room next-door - a worn tape deck from a long lost memory.
‘it’s coming for you.’
and suddenly i was 100, 300, 600 meters away. the table and cold angel shrinking away - her voice resonating clear, constant, and grainy despite the rushing wind.
‘it’s coming’
we have a near-immediate access to endless information.
but it’s not about the speed or ease of access, it’s what we do with the information that matters.
what will the legacy left to your progeny be? a stream of low-lit and grainy photos of dinner plates, clothes, and shoes? or could it be something else?
instant gratification is too slow, we’re too numb to feel over-stimulated, and the innumerable bits of data continuously joining the ether contribute to nothing.
the re-orientation of space is one thing,
that of the mind - beyond understanding.
the true meaning behind my words, survives,
in the negative space of my digital canvas.
the fire in my eyes need fanning.
[determination, now a deep red turning white lump of coal in my belly.]
what happened to the animal?
the caged beast with sharp teeth, ready to bite the hand that fed.
has his hunger proved too great?
or has he been fed too much?
passive and lingering in his cell - he’s given up on trying to bend steel bars
